The Secret Ingredient of Wishes (3 page)

“It's all right. I'll just walk to the gas station.”

“Don't argue with me, girl. It's a good two miles to the station and you look about to drop. Also, I don't see a gas can in those hands of yours.” Catch flipped up the latch on the gate and flung it open, forcing Rachel to sidestep to avoid getting hit. The gate groaned as if sick of letting strangers in. “And I don't want it on my head if you let yourself get hit by a car.”

She followed Catch up the flagstone path. Moss sprouted between the stones and obscured the edges. It squished under her Toms. Deep-orange day lilies flanked the back of the flower bed and small purple flowers pushed through them on spindly green stems. A tree dripped with fist-sized peaches in the middle of the yard, scenting the air with a sweetness that made her stomach grumble.

The house was three stories, with pale-teal clapboard and cedar shake siding and a turret that spiked up on the left. The white trim cracked and bubbled around the screen door.

“Sit down,” Catch said. She pointed to the pair of wooden rockers. The paisley cushions, faded and squashed flat, invited her to sit like so many others obviously had before her. “I'm gonna make a call. Would you like some pie?”

Rachel shook her head, taking the chair closest to the stairs. When she leaned back, the chair smacked into the house with a sharp crack. She jumped up, reached a hand out to check for splintered wood.

She settled for leaning against the porch railing. Unlike the house, the porch looked like it had been rebuilt within the last few years. The paint shone slick and even. The floorboards were firm under her feet.

Catch's raspy voice carried through the screen as she said to whomever she had called, “I've got a girl stranded over here. If that's not enough incentive, I made a habanero peach pie this morning. I'd be willing to part with a slice or two in return.”

The door slapped shut behind Catch a moment later when she came back out, rattling the thin windowpanes on either side of the door. The plate in her hand remained steady.

“Just shove the rock back in place,” Catch said. She kicked the small stone back under the rocking chair runner and handed the slice of pie to Rachel with a smile that dared her to refuse it. “It'll keep the chair from hitting the house again. It's on Ashe's to-do list, but damn if that boy doesn't find a dozen other things to do when he's here.”

Sitting again, Rachel leaned back slowly. The chair dipped a few degrees then stopped, the rock crunching under the weight but holding. She relaxed her grip on the plate and inhaled the sweet scent of the peach pie. She would've eaten it even if it hadn't smelled like heaven on a plate, but after the first bite, she was grateful Catch had ignored her initial refusal.

“So, tell me. What're you doing running out of gas in the middle of Nowhere?”

“Honestly, I'm not really sure. I thought I had enough to get back to I-40 after the detour, but then it was all of a sudden on empty.”

Catch pressed her lips together and made a low
hmm
sound. She drew her gaze over Rachel as if she was looking for an answer to whatever question made the skin around her eyes wrinkle. “Well, you coulda landed in a lot worse places.”

“I really appreciate you helping me out,” Rachel said. She licked the syrupy juice off the fork as the spice from the habanero pepper mixed in with the peaches tickled the roof of her mouth.

“Where were you headed?” Catch asked.

“Whatever's at the end of I-40. A beach, a little quiet.”

She stared down the street. A trio of kids played in the road, chasing each other and screeching in delight. Lightning bugs danced in the air, their flickering bulbs just visible in the shade of the draping oaks. But night hovered at the edges, waiting to douse the street in darkness. And then the bugs would be scooped into mason jars with holes poked in the lids and shown off with a quick shout and jumble of excited words to all passersby.

Taking a sip of what smelled to Rachel like scotch, Catch said, “One thing I've learned, you always end up right where you're meant to be, whether you agree with it or not. Just give it time. You might feel lost now, but you'll find what you're looking for.”

Rachel shivered at Catch's words despite the summer heat. Part of her wanted to believe this woman even though she'd just met her and Catch was probably just giving her the standard everything-will-work-out speech she'd give to any lost soul who turned up on her porch. But for Rachel there was nothing—no one—to find. Years of disappointment had taught her that.

She stood up, the chair creaking back to its original position. “It's getting late. I should probably try to find a place to stay tonight while your friend is getting the gas. Is there a hotel nearby?”

“You're not going anywhere when I've got plenty of rooms right here. Got them all prettied up and then thought, ‘What in the hell do I want to open a B&B for?' so I scrapped the whole damn idea and now have a bunch of rooms no one sees but me. You can have your pick. But I'd take the attic suite if I were you. Gives you the most space. And the best view.”

“That's really nice of you, but I don't want to be any more of a bother.”

“Nonsense. I know we don't know each other, but that's not a good reason to turn down a perfectly good offer.”

Rachel eyed the old woman. Beneath the gruff, take-charge attitude that had etched hard lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes, something softer was hidden, something that looked a lot like loneliness. And that was something Rachel knew all too well. “You're really okay with someone you've just met staying in your house? For all you know I could be—”

“Crazy?” Catch said. “We're all a little crazy, Rachel, though I prefer ‘eccentric.' It doesn't have to be a bad thing.”

Rachel desperately wanted that to be true.

Catch patted Rachel's arm and looked toward the road, her eyes wrinkling even more at the edges as she squinted. “Sounds like that's your gas.”

A black pickup truck rumbled to a stop in the gravel drive that ran up the side of the house. Rachel couldn't make out the driver's face in the fading light. He hauled a gas can from the back of the truck. Dirty-blond hair hung in his eyes as he walked toward them.

“Sorry it took me so long. Got waylaid by Dean.” He held up the rusted can. The red had scratched off in places, revealing a dingy black beneath. “This must be the strandee.” He wiped his gritty palm on the thigh of his jeans. It came away with more dirt. He shrugged and tried again on his white undershirt, then extended his hand to her.

Rachel took the can from him instead. The less interaction she had with people, the less likely a wish was to materialize. She had to hold the can with both hands and still leaned forward with the weight. She tilted her head back, as much to regain her balance as to shift her gaze away from the shirt stretched tight across his chest at her eye level. His face, long and lean like the rest of him, ended in a square chin covered in a layer of stubble, and his full lips tugged to one side in a half smile. “Thanks for this. What do I owe you?”

Before he could respond, Catch cut in. “Set that down, Rachel, and let the boy do it.”

She obeyed more because her hands were burning where the handle dug into her skin than because she wanted to. The can grated against dirt and particles on the stone. It sent a shiver up her spine.

“I'm Ashe,” he said. “Catch's back-door neighbor.”

“I've known him since he was old enough to toddle through the grass and help himself to my cherries. Ruined a perfectly good pie, this boy. Had to throw the damn pie crust out when I went out to pick 'em and saw he'd eaten his way through two thirds of the ripe ones.”

Curiosity overruled her flight instinct, and Rachel asked, “So, now you do favors for pie?”

“Favors are less painful than getting caught thieving. After the cherry incident, Catch switched me so many times my legs were raw.”

Catch smacked a hand on his chest. “I'd do it again.”

“I know.” Ashe smiled at her. Barely there dimples winked in his cheeks, and Rachel found herself wanting to smile too. Whatever loneliness she'd sensed in Catch was offset by Ashe's easy charm. “Is that your Pathfinder parked on the side of the road a few houses back?”

“Guilty.”

He lifted the can, one-handed, and said, “If you give me your keys I'll go fill her up and drive her down here for you.”

“I'll come with you,” Rachel said without thinking. So much for keeping her distance. She dug her keys out of her pocket and cupped them in her palm. They were lighter without the work keys she'd handed back to her boss, along with her resignation, on her way out of town, their sound unrecognizable.

Catch winked at Ashe, not bothering to hide the gesture, and chuckled into her drink when Rachel raised an eyebrow at her.

The sidewalk narrowed, forcing him to fall in line behind her. At five four, she barely came up to his shoulder. The gate sighed when she pushed through it.

“Sorry you had to do this,” she said when he matched his pace to hers.

“It's no problem. I had to come back this way anyway. I noticed the Tennessee plates. Where're you headed?” Ashe asked.

“Somewhere on the coast.”

“You just got in and started driving?”

Rachel jangled her keys in her hand. “Pretty much.” She pressed the key fob as they approached her car, and the locks clicked as they disengaged.

Ashe walked to the gas tank and waited for her to lean inside and pop the cap. He pulled a funnel from his back pocket and stuck it in the throat of the tank. His hair fell back in his face. He shook his head to move it and caught her watching him. His mouth quirked up in amusement.

He turned back to the gas can, and she settled in the driver's seat to wait.

“All set,” he said a couple minutes later. He pounded on the side of the car like it was a flank of a horse to get it moving.

“One more favor and then I'll leave you alone,” she said.

He rested one arm on the top of the door and the other on the roof, blocking her exit. He smelled like sweat and sawdust, and it was a pleasant combination. He looked down at her and the streetlight hit his face. His eyes were a deep ocean blue, and she didn't want to look away.

“Weird,” he said. The smile returned, with just a hint of interest.

“What?”

“You don't see too many people with amber-colored eyes. But you're the second person I know with them. I used to tease my little brother about his and tell him he was an alien. Made him cry when he was real little. Now he likes to rub it in that chicks dig it.”

Goose bumps rose on her arms at the mention of a little brother. She cranked the key in the ignition, trying to give herself a moment away from Ashe's gaze. Some country singer she couldn't name whined from the stereo. “Can you tell me how to get to the gas station so I can fill up and get on my way?”

“I could, but it wouldn't do you any good. Dean was closing up when I was there. Poker night.”

“The only gas station in town closed so Dean could go play cards?”

Ashe rapped his hands on the roof of her car. “It's Tuesday. That's what he does.” He smiled wide, and Rachel found herself smiling back. “I can take you to a hotel if you need. It's not the best, but it'll do for the night, I'm guessing.”

With the dimples and broad shoulders and hands that were constantly touching things around him, she was pretty sure he could make anywhere do for a night. Or even a couple hours. The fact that she'd even thought about him like that after only knowing him a few minutes brought her guard back up. “Does that line work on the girls around here?” she asked.

“Not a line. Just an offer.”

Rachel nodded slowly, careful not to look at his face in case he smiled again. There was something contagious about it. His smile.

“Catch knew Dean closed early today, didn't she?” she asked.

“Everyone does. Why?”

“She offered to let me stay with her tonight.”

“Did she now?” His tone hardened, and Rachel started to ask if that was a problem but closed her mouth when he stepped back from the car and glared in the direction of Catch's house. “You'll wanna pull all the way down the drive.” He started back toward the house without another word, and Rachel followed slowly in her car, wondering what she'd said wrong.

 

4

The inside of Catch's house smelled like fruit. Not any particular variety, just a melding of sweet and tart. The hardwood floors were so dark Rachel couldn't see the individual planks, though she could see faint imprints of Catch's dusty shoes. The foyer opened up all the way to the roof, and rooms jutted off in multiple directions through elaborate wooden archways. The walls of each room were different colors—lilac, peach, ice blue, budding-leaf green.

A round table sat in the middle of the room. Eight or nine pies covered the polished surface. Each had a unique design etched into the crust. Different colors bubbled out of the holes, hinting at what fruit was nestled inside.

Rachel's stomach growled despite having already eaten a piece of pie. She clamped her arms around her middle to dull the sound.

“We'll eat soon,” Catch said to her. As Ashe started up the stairs, she called after him, “Will you be staying too?”

He didn't respond, the thudding of his work boots the only sound as he continued up with the straps of Rachel's duffel bag clutched in one fist.

“His loss,” Catch said with a shrug. “I'm making his favorite. C'mon. I'll show you the room, let you get settled before dinner.”

The walls were bare as the stairs curved up through the second floor. No family photos, no antique clocks or quirky paintings of fruit. Just a flat wall the color of the inside of an apple. All the doors were closed as they walked down the hall. A window at the end overlooked the side yard, a layer of dust collecting on the sill.